Yesterday
by Helena Disenchanted
Summary: And all the things that you never ever told me, and all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me...get the feeling that you're never, never coming home.


**Yesterday**

Yesterday morning, his mother had run out the door muttering something about the bread she had forgotten to purchase at the store.

_His mother came rushing from her bedroom, cheeks flushed, hands trembling. She looked afraid. If Francis Sullivan didn't know any better, he'd say she'd just seen a ghost. She knelt down beside him and clasped his right hand between her gloved hands. Her eyes were glistening as if tears threatened to fall any moment. She looked at him so strangely. It reminded him of the way she had looked at his father as he walked out the door the day he left for good except without the hate, just the sadness. _

"_Francis," she said, "I need to run out to the store for a minute. I feel so silly. I completely forgot to purchase some bread for our breakfast when I was shopping yesterday. Ridiculous, I know. You'll be alright here own your own for a bit, won't you?" Francis thought she looked pretty upset for simply forgetting to buy bread. He didn't see why it was so important. He didn't even like the bread they had. It was all crusty and hard and stale. He didn't question her though. His father had always told him that women were strange and often did things that didn't make any sense, but he'd do well just to go along with it. _

"_Yes, mother, I'll be fine," he replied, pulling his hand from her grasp to pick up his toy train. She'd interrupted his trip to Santa Fe, and if she was going to act so peculiar he couldn't afford to waste any more time. He had a deadline to make after all. His mother stood and walked toward the door, pausing before opening the wooden plank. _

"_Francis," she said, her words scarcely a whisper, "I love you." Then she rushed out the door. _

Yesterday afternoon, his mother still hadn't returned home, but when Francis had opened the pantry looking for a snack, he found two full loaves of bread sitting on the shelf.

_Francis' train had made the trip to Santa Fe and back 4 times, but his mother had not yet returned home. Francis wondered if he should be worried, but his father had always told him that women were unpredictable. "They'll say they're running out for just a minute," his father had told him, "and return two hours later saying that Mrs. So-and-so had the most fascinating story to tell them, and they simply couldn't be rude and leave before Mrs. Such-and-such, who had joined the conversation later, had finished her story too." Still, Francis was awfully hungry. He decided that his mother wouldn't mind if he just had a quick snack to tide him over. After all, she was the one who thought a story was more important than his breakfast. When he opened the pantry, he was shocked to see two full loaves of bread sitting on the shelf. Francis didn't know what to think. The only logical explanation he could come up with was that his mother had merely forgotten that she had bought bread. His father had often told him that women were forgetful and couldn't remember what they'd done ten minutes earlier. Francis figured if a woman could forget something after just ten minutes, his mother certainly could have forgotten something after a whole night. So he took a piece off the first loaf of bread and had his breakfast._

Yesterday night, Francis' bedtime had long since passed, and his mother still hadn't returned home.

_Two loaves of bread and another 7 trips to and from Santa Fe later, Francis was starting to get a little frightened. Where was his mother? Francis was not so good at telling time yet, but after looking a the grandfather clock for a minute or two, he figured it was somewhere around nine o'clock. His bedtime was eight o'clock. His mother never let him stay up past his bedtime, and he didn't care how good of a story Mrs. So-and-so had, she would have come home by now! Francis didn't know what to do. Should he ask his neighbor Mr. Turner for help? No, his mother always said that Mr. Turner was a miserable old man who didn't care for anyone other than himself. Should he call the police? No, his father always said that the bulls only helped rich folks unless they were helping a poor man into prison. He wondered if he should try and find his father, but that would take an awful lot of work. Besides, what if his mother came home while he was gone? She would be so worried. He figured the only thing he could do was go to sleep. His mother would be there in the morning when he woke, he assured himself._

This morning, Francis awoke and his mother had still not returned.

_The sun shone brightly through the window, setting the inside of Francis' eyelids aglow. They burned red until Francis opened them to peek around the apartment. No sign of his mother. He decided she must be in her bedroom sleeping. After all, if she'd been out so late last night, she'd sure be tired this morning. He ran into her room, but it was empty. No! He ran around the apartment, searching every nook and cranny as if he believed his mother could have shrunken by magic to play hide and seek with him. Anything was better than believing that she still hadn't come home. Suddenly, a brilliant idea came to him. He had probably looked the front door last night. His mother could be sleeping in the hall. He thrust open the door excitedly, fully expecting to see his sleeping mother lying on the floor. There was no one. Maybe it had been a nice night and she decided to sleep under the stars. His mother had always loved nature. He ran down a flight of stairs and out the front door of the apartment building into the street._

"_Mother?" he called out hopefully. Nothing responded but the cries of the newsies selling the morning paper. _

_He caught a glimpse of a page of the newspaper caught in the cracks of the stone steps outside of his apartment. He reached over and pulled it out. It was the front page. He read the headline aloud._

"_Woman Brutally Murdered Last Night by Husband." Francis suddenly felt cold despite the warm sunshine on his back. His eyes skimmed down the page to the picture. It was an image of woman lying in the street in a pool of blood. Francis let out a small cry. No matter how blurry the picture was, he would know that woman anywhere. She was his mother. The word's "Murdered by Husband" ran through his head. His father would never do this, could never do this, but the paper said he had. The picture was right there in front of Francis' own eyes. His heart sank, and he felt sick to his stomach. NO! He fell to his knees and cried, his body racking with the violence of his sobs._

Yesterday, his mother had run out the door to buy bread, and today, Francis knew, she was never coming home.

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies or any of the characters in it.

Author's Note: In the movie we learn that Jack's mother is dead and his father is in prison, but we never find out any more than that. This is my take on his history, inspired by the My Chemical Romance song _The Ghost of You_.


End file.
